The following is a non-profit, fan-made work of fiction. RWBY and Iron Man are the respective trademarked properties of Rooster Teeth Productions, LLC and Marvel Entertainment, LLC. Please support their respective franchises and releases. This means I own jack, so don't sue me, it's all for fun. (And practice, I just wanna be a better writer.)

Edited June 5th, 2019: Had to slightly change how the reactor was built, so that it can mesh well with what is planned for a later Story Arc.

Edited December 13, 2019: Cleaned the chapter up a bit. Still needs work

The Invincible Whitley Schnee

Chapter 3: Refusing the Call (And accepting the consequences), Pt. 2

In one of the many caverns within the abandoned mine, the White Fang was stockpiling the car batteries taken from their guest. Savin looked on from the entrance, staring impassively as his loyal soldiers carry out the task he had assigned them. These car batteries were meant to power the device that was keeping their hostage alive, and now they were being served as leverage against him. If all goes according to his plan, the Schnee will have demonstrated his impressive intelligence, and Vryolak and he will have gained a valuable asset in their bid for control over the White Fang.

That is, if their mysterious benefactors words about the Schnee proved to be true.

"Sir, do you really think this plan is wise?" Savin heard one of his men asked. He can't fault the man for his doubts.

The Snake Faunus looked at the man who asked and replied. "Yes, this is the best course of action."

It was the most efficient course of action, in his opinion. If Vryolak had been taking point in this endeavor, he would have used this plan as a way of coercing the young Schnee into cooperating with them. However, what was to guarantee that the Schnee will deliver on whatever demands they make? For all Savin knew they had probably picked up the one Schnee with the least intelligence, second only to the boy's admittedly boorish father.

And I doubt the praise of a man we've never actually met proves anything. Savin thought derisively, remembering Mr. X's words about the boy's so-called gifts.

The last thing he'll ever do is accept the vague words of some stranger as the factual truth.

His plan, if successful, will have proven the boy's intelligence as well as his skills. Unlike Vryolak, Savin will not force the boy to cooperate through fear, but rather through manipulation. If there was any trait that Whitley Schnee possibly shared with his father than it was probably Pride, which the coldblooded Faunus will fully exploit. By issuing that ultimatum, he had challenged the Schnee's pride as a supposed innovator. The young man will have wanted to live longer, no question, but he wouldn't let that slight against his intelligence stand.

What he hadn't told the boy was that he had planned to return the batteries anyway. What point was there in having a hostage, if said hostage was dead?

Plus, there was also the fact that Mr. X will personally see to it that he and his comrades are wiped from the face of Remnant if the boy died. Not that he would let that happen.

Either way, The Schnee will live and so will they.

If the boy proved to be uncooperative after this little challenge, well, then it was time for his back-up plan to be used. It was the plan that Vryolak appreciated the most.

Still, he can't help but wonder. What will Yinsen do?

If the doctor was the same man he and Vryolak had met years ago, then he will doubtlessly have already tried to help the boy. He wondered if Schnee knew the truth about Yinsen.

He'll just have to wait and see.

"What am I to do?" Ho Yinsen asked himself, as he watched his newest patient scribble away at the desk he had appropriated.

Admittedly, he had been concerned for the boy when he began to thrash about in his sleep. The boy looked as though he were suffering the worst kind of nightmare, one that preyed on his traumatized psyche and insecurities. He had worked with enough children to recognize the tell-tale signs of post-traumatic stress. But he hadn't the slightest clue as to how he can help with psychological distress.

Throughout his career as a doctor, the man has worked with many individuals who have suffered the worst kind of injury. He has dealt with those who have lost a literal part of themselves, either it be an arm, leg, or a hand. Name a single part of the human body, and he's probably replaced it. But when it comes to the complex machine that is the human mind, he was hopeless. Replacing lost limbs is one thing, but fixing a person's mind is another.

That job usually went to his wife, Cho. He missed her. He missed his children.

Don't cry; you'll see them again. Yinsen reminded himself, fighting back the tears threatening to fall.

He had a patient to think of, one that needed his utmost attention. This boy had just endured a traumatic experience, and he needed the doctor's help to stop him from hurting himself.

But when Whitley Schnee had woken up, looking like a man possessed, Yinsen was shocked by what he did. The first thing the boy did was to make a request, and he asked for only two things from Yinsen. He had asked for paper, lots of paper, and pencils, preferably of the no. 2 variety. Luckily for him, Yinsen had those items in bulk. He needed those to keep track of his inventory, as well as record the symptoms and recoveries of those he had operated on.

The boy snatched the papers and pencils from him with an almost manic speed and retreated to a nearby table, where he began to scribble down whatever it was the boy needed to write. He didn't know what compelled the boy to do so, but he reasoned that it was some form of therapy. As his wife told him, people reacted to trauma in their own ways. There were some who simply tried to bottle their emotions in, those who just worked the problem, and then there were the rare few who simply tried to ignore their situation by focusing on another task.

Whitley Schnee was apparently the former.

Then again, the boy had been told he only had three days to live, and he had less time than that to solve his dilemma. He doubted Savin would let the boy die, knowing the man not to be careless as to lose his one bargaining chip. Despite his curiosity about the boy's impromptu writing session, he was not going to pry unless he absolutely had to. Plus, the boy probably wouldn't appreciate the interruption. He knew how teenagers felt about Adults interfering with their plans; he had many years of parenthood to attest to that fact.
For now, Yinsen will simply leave the boy to his own devices, until such time as he can approach the young man without any fear of worsening his doubtlessly already foul mood.

The next couple of hours saw Yinsen going about his business. As the boy continued scribbling down on the papers, the doctor kept himself busy by going over his daily routine. First, he took stock of his supplies, both the medical and the personal necessities. Then, he looked over the other patient that was brought in, whom had no doubt been on the receiving end of the Minotaur's wrath. The man will live, but he won't be able to breathe through his nose for a while. Or hold anything with his left hand. Vryolak really did a number on the man.

After looking over his patient, the Doctor set about fixing up his dinner. It was getting close to his own bedtime, if his estimates were correct, and he preferred to sleep after a healthy meal. At least a meal that was as healthy as he could make it with the ingredients he had on hand. The Fang's soldiers mostly functioned on a protein-based diet, with a moderate fiber intake. Yinsen was no fitness nut, but even he knew the benefits of a balanced diet.

As the White Fang neglected to restock his makeshift pantry and refrigerator, he had no choice but to boil the large bag of rice he had been saving for emergencies. He knew the rice will be bland and tasteless, but food was food. He prepared the fire, the pot, and poured the water into it. He boiled the water for several minutes and once it began to bubble, releasing steam into the air, he poured some of the rice into the bowl. As he stirred the pot, he watched his young patient, waiting to see if he'll join him for dinner.

If the young Schnee had noticed that dinner was being prepared, he didn't show it. His focus was still on the papers, which had long since been separated into piles, no doubt organized by their state of use. He also noticed that there were a few crumpled pieces of paper scattered around the boy, littered about the chair he sat upon. The boy must've made a few mistakes doing whatever he was doing.

Once the rice had been properly prepared, Yinsen went over to his poorly-built and old pantry and pulled out a bowl, spoon, and a ladle. Dipping the ladle into the still boiling-hot pot, the man pulled out some rice and poured into the bowl, which he had placed on a small, metal meal tray he had set beside the now extinguished fire. He wasn't going to hold a steaming ceramic bowl in his hands. His dinner ready, he retreated to his bed and sat upon it, with the metal tray in his lap and spoon in hand, ready to dig into the boiled rice.

Steam rose from the bowl, wafting high into the air. Yinsen took a sniff and much to his displeasure, found that the rice smelled exactly as he expected. Bland and nearly odorless, so it will be as tasteless as he can expect. Oh, how he wished he had some butter or an egg to add some flavor. But the White Fang denied him those privileges. They preferred to keep the better food to themselves, rather than share it with prisoners.

The doctor dismissively thought, Just another reason for me to hate them.

He then added as an afterthought, Not that they can make me hate them any more than I already do.

He dug his spoon into the bowl, sloshing the admittedly frothy water flooding the bowl. He then raised the spoon to his mouth and took a sip. Soft, miniscule beads of boiled rice mixed with water flood his mouth. The rice was indeed bland and tasteless, just as he expected. He missed having a pantry.

Still, food was food. He continued eating his dinner, all while keeping an eye on the traumatized youth scribbling away at the desk adjacent to him. It was around his third and last serving that the Doctor's patience finally gave in. He cannot, in good conscience, sleep while a troubled young man stayed awake. He rose from his cot and approached Whitley.

The man was careful in his steps, being slow and steady in his pace, so as not to startle the boy. Once he reached him, he peered over his shoulder to look at the paper. To his surprise, the boy was actually writing out a formula and from the look of the amount of papers he had already used, a very complicated one at that. Yinsen was no theoretical physicist, but even he recognized a complex energy equation. Whatever reasons the young man had for working on one escaped him.

"You know, it's considered rude to sneak up on someone while they work." He heard Whitley say, who then added. "It's also suspicious, so please stop being that and just ask what I'm doing like a normal person."

Yinsen composed himself and asked, "What are you doing, anyway?" before adding a passive-aggressive, "He asks, like a normal person."

If Whitley was unamused by those parroted words, he didn't show it. He explained to the nosy doctor, "What I am doing is figuring out a complex formula, one that serves as a framework for a device that I think, no, know will save my life."

His interest piqued, Yinsen then asked, "And just how will this device save your life?"

Whitley turned in his chair to face the older man. Through bloodshot eyes, which slightly worried the doctor, he stared straight at him.

He then asked, "Have you ever heard of the Arc Reactor?"

Yinsen blinked at those words. He knew what the Arc Reactor was; nearly anyone who had lived during the height of Toni Stark's genius knew what it was. Often referred to as Stark's unfinished masterpiece, the so-called "greatest invention never made", the Arc Reactor was intended to be a new source of fuel, an alternative to Dust, oil, and even solar energy. Unfortunately, the project died with the genius, who had spent the last few decades of her life trying to build a working reactor. It seemed that her Grandson was intent on finishing this project in her stead.

"Yes, I've heard of it. I'm just wondering how it's going to save your life." He honestly said.

"Well, I plan to use it to power a replacement for this," Whitley pointed to the electromagnet in his chest and then at the papers, "But first I need to solve this."

Yinsen looked at the papers, and the equations scribbled upon them, and asked, "And what exactly is this?"

"A formula I've been working on. My grandmother already worked out how the reactor would work," The boy replied before adding, "What I'm trying to figure out is how I can make it smaller."

A slightly grey eyebrow rose on Yinsen's face as he inquired, "How small, exactly?"

Whitley smirked, "Small enough to fit the hole in my chest."

Yinsen saw the look on the boy's face. That smirk told him that the boy was close to figuring out the complex equation. Close enough that he deigned to take some time to explain himself to an old man who had interrupted his work. He didn't know if the boy was confident or arrogant, but he definitely knew what he was doing.

The doctor spoke, "Alright, I'll bite, this might work-"

Whitley interrupted him, "Will work!"

Yinsen groaned, not liking the interruption, and continued, "Okay, will work. But how exactly are you going to build this miniature reactor?"

"That Creepy Faunus said they'll provide the necessary materials. The real challenge is trying to figure out what exactly I'll need to build it."

Yinsen blinked at the boy's choice of wording, Challenge?

Did the boy not fully grasp the reality of his situation? He was sitting deep in a cave, with shrapnel slowly eating away at his heart, the only thing keeping him being a shoddily-built electromagnet. Yet, the one thing he was most concerned about was the promise of a difficult challenge?

Although, the challenge presented to him was his one chance at improving his odds of survival. Yinsen realized, but he still wondered whether the boy had his priorities straightened out. He didn't seem all that concerned about his imminent death.

That's worrying, he thought to himself. He may not be a psychiatrist like his wife, but he was definitely going to help the boy sort out his issues. He did swear an oath to do so.

"And you're almost finished?" He asked.

"I was this close." Whitley said, pinching his thumb and index finger closely together. He then rudely added, "So, if you could just scoot back to your bed, that'd be great…"

He then waved his hand, trying to shoo the doctor away. Taking the hint, the doctor walked away. Returning to his cot, the man lied down and shut his eyes. As the sound of lead scratching against paper assault his ears, along with the occasional satisfied hums and disappointed groans of an obnoxious Schnee, he couldn't help but groan in exasperation.

"Teenagers, always the same, no matter the family," He groaned in exasperation.

Within minutes, he was asleep. He slept through the night.

Whitley, however, did not

"Okay, I'm gonna need a plasma torch here!"

When Yinsen woke up, he had thought his day would have started like any other. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see members of the White Fang marching in and out, lugging cardboard boxes and metal container. Most had already been opened, their contents strewn about the room to be organized later. In the center of it all was Whitley Schnee, who was directing foot traffic, giving out orders to the Faunus as they moved about the room.

He heard the boy shout, "NO! Don't put the torch near the fire Dust. Are you trying to blow us all up!?"

Yinsen looked to his left and saw the offending Fang, who quickly snatched the torch away from the table where several Dust containers laid, all of them labeled "FIRE".

Rising from his cot, the doctor weaved his way through the moving line of Faunus, intent on reaching his patient. Like a leaf in the wind, Yinsen followed the path as it directed him, trying to pass through obstacles with ease. But it wasn't easy, as these Faunus moved without a pattern. After a minute of traversing the intricate moving maze of bodies, the doctor finally reached the young man.

Whitley noticed the old doctor and greeted him warmly, "Morning."

Ignoring the greeting, Yinsen instead asked, "What is this?"

Whitley gave the man a small smirk, "Savin said he'd provide me with materials. Well, he's providing right now."

The sound of a metal container banging against rock was heard. Whitley screamed, "HEY! Careful with that, the stuff in that box is worth more than the clothes on your back!"

He then directed his attention back to Yinsen, "I took him up on his offer and they've been delivering what I need since early this morning."

"So does that mean you already figured out your little equation?"

The boy grinned and confidently said, "That and more."

He then pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Yinsen. The doctor unfurled the sheet, revealing designs for a device that resembled his electromagnet, only it looked far more streamlined and refined. In his opinion, it looked like a pacemaker that had been sketched by an car designer. Words failed to describe how impressed he was by the young man's ingenuity. But he did wonder about one thing.

"Did you get any sleep last night, as I suggested." He asked the teenager.

Whitley quickly said, "Why, yes, of course, I did. I mean, why wouldn't I?"

Yeah, he definitely didn't sleep last night. The Doctor worriedly realized. This might become a problem if left unhandled.

But right now, his main concern was ensuring this boy's continued survival. He then spoke, "Alright, I can see where this is going. What do you need me to do?"

"You're going to help me build this." The boy told him, leaving no room for negotiation. Yinsen was gonna help regardless.

Pushing his glasses up, the doctor asked. "Alright, where do we start first?"

"It looks like your plan is working, old friend. Well done."

If Savin appreciated the compliment, he didn't let it show. As Vryolak had come to know since he met the man, he had a remarkable poker face. He had come to appreciate the Snake Faunus' coolheaded composure, which had come in handy more times than he could count. Especially now, given their current predicament with the Schnee boy.

Savin coolly replied, "Thank you. But save the praise for when the boy is finished with his task."

"And you're sure that he'll do it, that he can actually build that… thing?" Vryolak asked, having forgotten the term of the device the Schnee was building.

"If he is indeed as intelligent as Mr. X claimed, then he will." Savin said assuredly before asking, "Speaking of whom, have we received any further instructions from him?"

Vryolak groaned, "Not since yesterday. I don't know what exactly he's doing right now, but Mr. X is probably figuring out a better option. When he'll find one, I've not the slightest clue. It could take weeks."

Despite their groups surge in successive operations, they were still far from their true goal, a goal that only Mr. X can help them accomplish. However, their relationship with their mysterious benefactor hinged on how well they can handle the mess they've found themselves in. Of course, it was a mess that could only get worse if Whitley Schnee continued to be uncooperative in the future.

Vryolak was thankful that Savin had a backup plan. If he were being honest with himself, he liked this plan more than the current one.

He wished that they had led with it.

After the last of the containers were brought in and opened, Whitley immediately went to work.

Sitting at a table, with Yinsen standing close by, Whitley sat disassembling a 3M missile, the very same model responsible for his damaged heart. How ironic it was, the boy thought, that the very instrument behind his doom would be become his salvation. Using a screwdriver, the teenaged genius quickly unscrewed the bolts that kept the nose of the miniature missile connected to the body. As soon as the last screw was taken out, he immediately pulled the half-orbicular piece away from the body. He was glad that the missile hadn't been primed for use, or else removing the cone would have killed him.

Then again, the explosion would have been quicker than the shrapnel in my chest. The young Schnee darkly thought.

Using his right hand, he reached inside the now harmless metallic tube and pulled out its payload. He then tossed the tube aside, no longer needing it. Examining the intricate mechanism before him, he searched for the one piece he needed for his newest invention. Once he found it, he took out a wrench and pulled on it. Within seconds, a piece of machinery that Yinsen couldn't identify is extracted, which Whitley held under the lamp. He then plucked a small and thin strip of metal from the piece, which he showed to the doctor.

He looked to Yinsen and explained, "You see this? That's palladium, .15 grams. We need 1.6 grams for what we're building, so get down to helping with the other eleven."

Yinsen, despite his hesitance, complied with the request. He went to their stockpile of Missiles and pulled out two, handing one to Whitley, while he took the other. Within minutes, they had more palladium. The process continued for an hour until they finally had the amount needed.

"Alright, now we're going to melt these down later, so I can use them for the reactor's core. You'll handle that part. I've got already some molten metal ready for the ring, but I'll need to get the mold ready."

The teenager set about creating the mold, which he made sure would shape the molten metal into a thin ring, one as wide as the palm of his hand. Yinsen found the molten metal inside a tiny clay pot. Using a clamp, Yinsen took the pot and carefully moved over to the boy, who had placed the mold on a table.

"Be careful. You wouldn't want to burn a hole through the table." Whitley warned.

Yinsen chuckled as he began pouring the pot's contents into the mold, "Don't worry, I have steady hands. How do you think you're still alive?"

After the last of the metallic magma had been poured into the mold, they let the metal cool off. An hour passed, enough time for the metal to cool off, which they promptly broke free of the mold. After inspecting the newly-formed ring for any imperfections, which he found none, Whitley took the newly formed metal ring to the table, where he had set up a work station. He was pleased to see that it met the exact measurements he intended for it. He now had the foundation for his new reactor. Now all had to do was construct the actual device, which he knew would take a considerable amount of time.

Using the parts he scavenged from the missiles he had gutted, along with the few scraps he deemed suitable for use, he set about building the components that would comprise the internal structure of the reaction. For the next several hours, he slowly assembled the parts needed. Yinsen spent his time melting the palladium so that it may be poured into another mold that would create the core of the reactor.

Whitley took his time with each component, meticulously looking over each and every mechanism before he connected it to the larger frame. He can't afford to make any mistakes, as the miniature reactor had be assembled exactly to the specifications he outlined in the blueprint. He and he alone was the only person that he can trust to get this right.

As he worked, the teenaged genius failed to notice the passage of time. Seconds became minutes, and then became hours, starting from late midday to late in the evening. Yet, he didn't notice at all. But the passage of time was not the only thing Whitley failed to notice. As he took his time working on the reactor, he didn't see that Yinsen was had been observing him. The Doctor, throughout their endeavor, had been taking notes on the young man's behavior. Suffice to say, he did not like what he had seen thus far. What had he noticed, if one were to ask him?

He had noticed that Whitley Schnee, while building his newest invention, has been displaying some rather troubling habits. The boy has already neglected his sleep, having been awake since yesterday afternoon. He doubted the boy had even taken a break in that same time period. He has also been ignoring food, having eschewed breakfast, lunch, and now dinner in favor of working on the reactor. It seemed that the boy had chosen to focus his mind and body on completing this task, regardless of whatever negative effects it would have on his body.

Does he even know what time it is? Yinsen wondered as he checked his watch. It was getting close to nine.

Yinsen didn't know if the boy was suffering from Post-Trauma Syndrome, but it was clear, even to him, that Whitley Schnee is going through some kind of psychological torment. If hadn't met the young man prior to his surgery, he probably would've thought the teenager to be some kind of overachieving, perfectionist workaholic. But he knew better. Before he had woken up to write those equations, Whitley Schnee was experiencing what was no doubt a very horrific nightmare, one that nearly made the boy cry his heart out and clutch at his heart.

It was as though he were trying to scrape the magnet out. Yinsen worriedly thought, horrified at the notion of the boy tearing out the electromagnet by accident.

He knew that the construction of this device was probably Whitley's way of maintaining a semblance of structure in his recently disrupted life. However, If something weren't done now, then the boy's neglect toward his own health will kill him long before the shrapnel does.

He approached the boy cautiously. Once he was near the boy, He tapped his shoulder. Whitley immediately ceased his work, pushing his welding googles up to his forehead.

The man nearly recoiled at the sight of the boy's eyes. They were tired and had bags, his blue eyes having lost all luster in them. He swore that they were bloodshot as well. This was proof that the boy had been neglecting his sleep.

"What is it?" Whitley asked before yawning.

That just confirms my suspicions. Yinsen thought in concern. He then said to the overtly-tired young genius, "You've been working too long. I'll handle the rest, just go take a break."

"Can't sleep, work's too important. Have to finish this." The boy replied, sounding more exhausted than he meant to express.

"You need rest." Yinsen insisted, taking the welding goggles. Whitley didn't even bother trying to take them back, he felt too tired. He opted to glare at the older man instead.

He irritably growled, "Give those back!"

"No." Yinsen sternly said, "You need sleep."

Whitley rose to his feet, trying to meet the older man's gaze. Unfortunately, he couldn't, for two reasons. Firstly, Yinsen had several good inches on him, so he couldn't argue face-to-face. Secondly, it was because something was building up in his stomach, and he felt as though he couldn't keep it in. Nearly dropping to his knees, he retched and coughed. Suddenly, and much to the boy's embarrassment, he let loose the contents of his stomach onto the cold, rocky floor.

Whitley wheezed and took several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. He looked up at Yinsen, who held a very concerned look in his eyes. For some reason, he hated that glance. He didn't understand why, but for some reason, he couldn't stand that pitying glance. For a brief second, he imagined his father standing in the doctor's place, looking down on him as he suffered under the pressure.

For a moment, Whitley saw his father, who sneered at him. "A Schnee doesn't show weakness. So tell my why you're kneeling, vomiting your pride away."

Through vomit-stained lips, the boy gritted his teeth. "I'm not weak."

Yinsen raised a brow at this and asked, "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Wiping his lips with his sleeve and shaking the illusion way, the tired genius irritably replied. "Nothing, I didn't say anything. I don't need sleep, I just need to finish this reactor."

"And you will, but not today." Whitley rolled his eyes at that, retorting, "Yes, today, I will. Now give those back."

Truthfully, Yinsen was reaching the limits of his admittedly great patience with this boy. He was no stranger in dealing with troublesome teenagers; he had close to twenty years of experience on the subject. But this was a special case. Because for some grand universal reason beyond his comprehension, out of all the people he had to help, it just had to be a super-intelligent teenager. A teenager who just happened to have a stubborn streak as wide as and possibly deeper than the Sanma Ocean. It's going to take more than words to have the boy get his much-needed rest.

Yinsen suddenly had an idea. Putting on a challenging smirk, he held the goggles in Whitley's face and said, "Alright, if you're that serious about this, then just take them from me."

Whitley looked at the old man in confusion, which was quickly replaced by satisfaction. The boy stretched his lips into a cocky smirk, satisfied that the old man had finally seen reason. He reached for the goggles, only for the doctor to yank his arm away.

"What are you doing!?" Whitley angrily demanded, levelling a fiercer glare at the old man.

"If you say you have all the energy to work, then taking these goggles from me shouldn't be a problem for you." Yinsen coolly explained, ignoring the teenager's glare.

Whitley huffed and loudly complained, "This is childish and unnecessary!"

"I'm not the one acting like a child."

"Fine, if you insist on acting like this, then I'll oblige you!" Whitley declared, rising from his seat.

The two captives stared the other down. Both stood unflinching, uncompromising in their stance. It was a game of chicken now, neither hostage knowing who would be the first to make a move. The game ended when Whitley made his move, reaching out at the old man's hand in an attempt to take the goggles back. Yinsen simply stepped to his side, away from the angered teenager, who was surprised by the action and nearly tripped. The boy looked at the doctor, who kept an impassive and unimpressed face. That look did nothing but further infuriate the boy.

Whitley swiped his hand at the goggles, but Yinsen simply raised his arm, using the advantage of his height. The goggles now hanging a few inches above him, Whitley jumped up and tried to snatch them from the doctor's grasp, only for the doctor to toss them into his other hand.

Whitley furiously shouted, "Is this a game to you?!"

"No, this isn't a game to me. A game is something one does for fun. I'm doing this to prove a point." Yinsen calmly explained as he held the goggles in the boy's face.

"Prove what!" Whitley demanded to know.

"If you keep on trying to get these things from me, you'll see."

That was all the incentive the young Schnee needed to continue. He was not one to be denied. He was a Schnee. Schnee don't know the meaning of the word "surrender". If they did, then the descendants of Nicholas Schnee would have been nothing more than simple Dust miners, nameless and ignored by the world. But Nicholas never surrendered and neither would his grandson.

What followed for the next several minutes was a test of Whitley's willpower. As he struggled vainly to retrieve his desperately needed goggles, he began to feel his chest tighten and his throat dry and itchy. His skin felt like it was burning, and his sweat glands were running on overtime trying to cool him down. Then his legs started to buckle before they finally gave in, causing the boy to drop to his knees.

No, I don't want to sleep! I need to stay awake if I want to live! The boy desperately pleaded with his body.

As the boy struggled to keep himself from succumbing to exhaustion, Yinsen set the welding goggles aside on a nearby table.

The doctor walked over to the young genius and knelt, telling him in a concerned voice. "What you're feeling right now, that's what happens when a person stays awake for too long. You have been up far longer than 24 hours and your body was suffering long before that. If you continue on like this, it's gonna get worse and you'll be so unfocused that you can't finish the only thing you're concentrating on."

Whitley was having none of it, as he defiantly spat out. "I. Do not. Need sleep!"

"Yes. You do." Yinsen countered, "Or is it that you can't sleep?"

"I can sleep. I just don't want to." Whitley argued, adding. "And nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise."

Yinsen resisted the urge to groan. It was just as he feared. The boy was definitely a stubborn one. If this were under different circumstances, he would've admired the young man's devil-may-care attitude. In these circumstances, however, stubbornness was a surefire way for the boy to get himself killed. He was not going to let the boy kill himself, not by a long shot. What kind of doctor would he be if he let one of his patients kill himself?

Drastic times call for desperate measures. The Doctor concluded. It was time to use his back-up plan.

"Alright," Yinsen said in a resigned tone, "If you're that confident you can finish this little project with no sleep; Then who am I to stop you."

He then told the boy, "In fact, I may have something that can help."

Yinsen rose up and walked over to a table on the farthest side of the cave. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out a small box, which he then opened. He then pulled out a small transparent, bottle filled with an equally transparent substance. The doctor then took a bottle of purified water, which he then poured into a ceramic mug. He then opened the bottle and poured a very minute drop of the doubtlessly medicinal liquid into the mug. After returning the bottle to the cabinet, Yinsen returned to the boy with the mug in his hand.

He held the mug to the still kneeling Whitley and said, "Drink this."

The exhausted Schnee observed the small ceramic object, wondering just what his physician had added into the water. He then than asked the man, "What is it?"

The doctor calmly explained, "Just a rather powerful adrenal supplement. It should keep you awake for a while."

Whitley looked at the mug again, wondering if he should take it. He weighed his options, calculated the risks, and chose the outcome that guaranteed his project's completion. He took the cup and drank it. As the liquid entered his system, he felt something stir within him. Could it be that his body was being rejuvenated?

"Oh, by the way, I lied." Yinsen said which shocked the boy. The man then told him the truth, "What you drank was Fospropofol."

"Which is what exactly?" Whitley deigned to ask.

Without skipping a beat, Yinsen explained, "A fast-acting, water-soluble sedative."

"Oh." Was all Whitley could say before the sedative kicked in.

The Schnee's face met the cavern floor afterward.

Yinsen checked the boy and found that he was unharmed. He then scooped the now-sleeping boy up and carried him over to an empty cot, where he promptly tucked him in. As he watched the boy settle into what would most assuredly be a very long sleep, Yinsen bemoaned the fact that he had to resort to such underhanded tactics.

"Just great, it's bad enough I'm helping terrorists against my will, but now I've committed medical malpractice." He lamented, feeling disgusted with himself.

He then thought about the situation and realized, "Then again, what I did was technically good for his health."

He is being held against his will by terrorists who'd sooner shoot him for any perceived slight. Which was possible, given his recent bout of near-insanity.

He looked at the unconscious Whitley, "Oh, he is going to be so pissed when he wakes up."

He then retreated to his own cot, lying down upon the dirty mattress. His last conscious thoughts, before sleep took him, were of his family.

Eight year old Whitley Schnee looked up at his grandmother with teary eyes.

It had been a week since Weiss' birthday party and he hadn't spoken to his father, mother, and sisters since. Father had been spending more time at the office than he did at home lately. His mother had taken to locking herself away in their bedroom with a couple of strange bottles. His sisters have gone to stay the week with the family of Kenjiro Fujikawa, one of his late grandfather's advisors and the current head of accounting for the SDC. From what he heard, the man's daughter, Rumiko, was a good friend of Winter. All he had was his grandmother and it took a week before he can actually see her.

Sitting on the couch of her living room, Whitley told his grandmother about the disastrous birthday party and the equally terrible aftermath. He told her about his father's words, which the woman found herself outraged at. He told her about his mother's actions, to which she frowned. When it came to his sisters, she expressed equal parts disappointment and sympathy. When her grandson expressed his feelings on the matter, the old woman just nodded in understanding and listened with rapt attention. When he finished telling her about his troubles

"How does it feel?" An elderly woman asked in concern.

"It really hurts, grandma," Whimpered the young child. "And I'm mad that I can't even put a Band-Aid over it."

Toni sighed and told him, "Yeah, that pretty much sums it up."

Whitley could only look down in shame. A short silence reigned between grandmother and grandson before the former spoke up, "I'm sorry, Whitley."

"What are you sorry about, Grandma?" Whitley asked as he looked up, only to find his grandmother had disappeared.

Eight year old Whitley Schnee now sat alone on the old couch. He looked around, yet can't find his grandmother. He shouted for Jarvis, but his grandmother's butler was nowhere to be seen. He then shouted for Aunt Pepper, Uncle Rhodey, and anybody else who could help him. No one came. His family abandoned him, his grandmother was gone, and nobody else was coming to help him. He was truly and utterly alone.

"I'm sorry." He heard a new voice say.

The boy turned on his heel, finding himself face-to-face with a person who looked like him, only older. But what scared the boy was not the fact he was looking at himself, but that his older twin had a gaping and bloody hole in his chest, right where his heart should be. Frightened by this older doppelgänger, the little boy backpedaled, trying to put as much distance between him and the stranger.

"Go away! You're not real!" The little boy shouted in desperation.

"I'm as real as you," The stranger said, "actually, I am you."

"No, you're not me! I have people who love me, who will do anything to keep me safe!"

"Oh, Yeah?" The older Whitley gestured to the hole in his chest, "Well, they've been doing a pretty bang-up job so far."

He then looked at the still-frightened boy and asked, "How long are you going to keep doing this? You know, living as though you believe you have any control over your life? Believing that so long as you follow the rules and somehow prove yourself, daddy dearest will finally swoop in, make all the bad people go away, and give you the throne?"

Older Whitley frowned, "Well, I hate to burst your very small bubble, junior, but daddy isn't coming.

Little Whitley ceased his crying and stared at his older counterpart, tears still fresh in his eyes and nose running.

"The only person you can rely on, at the moment, is yourself."

Older Whitley pointed to his chest and sternly said, "And you need to fix this."

Whitley opened his eyes. Shooting up in his bed, drenched in sweat, the teen genius scanned his surroundings. He noted that he was in his cot, with a very old, worn-out blanket covering his body, which was still clothed in the same outfit he has apparently worn for the past four days.

I should really change my clothes. He realized, taking a sniff of his sleeve. He recoiled at the odor. Yep, I'm definitely getting new clothes.

He looked over to that Yinsen was asleep on his cot wrapped in a worn blanket that only reached down to his knees, snoring like a bear that had pinecones shoved up its nasal passages. In other words, he was in deep sleep. This meant that Whitley had been sleeping long enough for his roommate to lose all consciousness.

Wait, how the hell was I asleep? I planned on staying up all night finishing the reactor, how could-

He then recalled his last conscious memory. Oh, you son of a- A sedative, really? I mean, really? I was completely fine, I didn't need sleep. I needed more time to work!

He scratched the back of his head. At least I didn't have the same dream as last time.
Whitley shuddered at having to endure another session of the psychological torture his mind has been subjecting him to. Then he thought, At least the one I just had was better… okay, still depressing, but better all the same.

With that sobering thought, Whitley shoved the blanket off his person, rising out of his cot. The boy then stretched his back, legs, and arms, trying to get all the creaks in his body out of his system. He then picked up the car battery, which had been placed on the end table, and promptly proceeded over to his work station. To his surprise, everything was exactly as he had left it the previous night. He sat down, setting the car battery on his lap, and immediately went back to work.

For the next couple of minutes, Whitley sat quietly at his station, working on the device that was to save his life. As before, he blocked out the world around him, becoming so engrossed in his work that he hadn't notice that Yinsen awoke. The doctor approached the young man and tapped on his shoulder. The boy was not even startled by the action as he calmly placed his tools back on the table. He looked up at Yinsen and glared. The boy's gaze was so sharp and intense it could stab and burn the older man into oblivion. Fortunately for Yinsen, there had never been a documented case of a person being killed by a stare.

"Uh, are you still mad about the sedative?" Yinsen asked, somewhat disappointed in himself.

Whitley just kept his eyes narrowed at the man and coolly replied, "Was that rhetorical? It had to be rhetorical. I mean, why you would ask a question that has such an obvious answer."

"Yeah, really regretted asking that the minute I spoke." Yinsen confessed, finding the boy's tranquil fury to be justified. He deserved it.

Whitley then remarked, "Yeah, not really the first thing you'd ask the guy you tranquilized. Speaking of which, I think that's what people would call a dick move."

"I know, that wasn't one of my proudest moments… if it helps, the sedative was actually plan B."

"What was Plan A?"

"Trying to trick you into taking a nap, all while promising I'd wake you up in an hour."

"You weren't going to wake me up in an hour, were you?" Whitley crossed his arms, "And did you really think I'd have fallen for something so obvious?"

"No, not really, no," Yinsen shrugged, "Besides, it was better than nothing. Would you rather I'd let you stay awake? I mean if I were as you said, a dick, I wouldn't have done anything. I'd have just left you to your devices as you slowly descended into the pit of clinical insanity. Hell, I'd have probably start a betting pool with the guards on how long it would take for your mind to break after drowning in an endless stream of uninterrupted consciousness. I'd imagine that after about four days, you'd be so out of it that you would have convinced yourself that mole-people were engaged in some kind of global conspiracy to undermine you… Well, considering if you hadn't died by then."

"…So I should be thanking you for slipping a drug into my drink?" Whitley sarcastically remarked, none too amused by the insinuation.

"I wouldn't phrase it like that, but yes. Just remember it's not my intention to harm you. I swore an oath to keep my patients safe, especially when a patient starts exhibiting symptoms such as yours."

Whitley's raised an eyebrow and said, "I don't follow."

Yinsen took a deep breath and then exhaled, preparing himself for a lengthy debate. "Mr. Schnee, I'm going to be frank, but you have been demonstrating some traits that one would call distressing. You have been thrashing about in your sleep, you've been hypervigilant, irritable and quiet. When you sleep, you're nearly on the verge of tears, holding in screams of pure agony-"

"I was just having a bad dream. I've had those before." Whitley vehemently denied.

"Oh, and what exactly did you see in this so-called bad dream?" Whitley froze at the question.

Yinsen pushed the issue, "Did you see something you didn't like? Something so horrifying that it made you fear sleeping? Why it almost sounds like you were having an unpleasant episode."

Whitley found his voice again, "There's nothing wrong with me. Other than the shrapnel currently eating away at my heart, I'm in tip-top shape."

Yinsen did not buy it for a second, "Oh, really? Can you honestly say that you're in peak mental condition? You, a teenaged boy who had just gone through a traumatic experience, suffering nearly-fatal wounds during said experience and having witnessed what was essentially summary execution, have the fullest confidence to say you haven't been affected in the slightest?"

Whitley again lost his voice, choosing instead to glare at the man. Yinsen took the heated glance in stride, and continued his lecture. "Okay, if you don't believe me, then I hope you can believe the facts. Over the past day and a half, you have shown signs of hypervigilance, depression, emotional detachment, unexplained anger, and the aforementioned case of nascent insomnia compounded by episodes of panic and terror in your sleep. Please tell me, am I wrong or does that sound like post-traumatic stress?"

The Schnee stared at the doctor. He looked at him with a scrutinizing glint in his arctic blue eyes, as though he were trying to detect any sign of the man's intentions. This was not the first time a person has expressed concern and more often than not, they were hollow sentiments used by people trying to gain leverage on the emotionally-scarred son of one of Atlas' most influential men.

His mind clear, Whitley replied with a flippant tone. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He then turned around and sat back down at the table to finish his work on the Arc Reactor. Before he started, he decided to get one final word in, "Also, you knocked me out with a sedative. Without my knowledge or consent. So, Doctor, with all due respect… Piss. Off."

Yinsen heard the message loud and clear. He knew he had messed up. He'll leave the boy to his work. He deserved that at the very least. He turned away and walked away, but not before telling the boy.

"Just make sure to let me know when you're finished. You still need a surgeon to put that reactor in your chest."

"And you're sure this is the best course of action?"

James Ironwood stared at the man seated across from him. The Head of the Atlas Military is no stranger to cover-ups, having had a hand in several, excluding the one involving his fellow headmasters. When Ozpin chose to suppress information, it was always with the intention of protecting Remnant's people. Yes, he has willingly hid the truth of the world from the people and he knew it was the right thing to do.

But what Jacques Schnee had just suggested, there was nothing right about it. It was the sort of thing he expected of the businessman, yet he always thought that the man had enough compassion not to go through with it. But he guessed he was wrong, for he had heard the man say it himself, clear as day.

Jacques Schnee had asked him to keep the Incident in Anima under wraps. There would be an investigation, but it will be conducted under secrecy and will not be revealed to the public. They will not tell the families of the soldiers who had died in the attack of their relative's deaths. But what topped all of them, the one thing that completely shocked the general, was the billionaire's insistence on covering-up his own son's kidnapping. The boy would be rescued, eventually, but the world will not know of his capture.

Ironwood summed up his feelings on the matter with this statement. "Have you lost your gods damned mind?"

Jacques retorted, "No and If I had, I would've known. This is the best course of action, James. The company's image can't suffer this slight against it."

"This is about the company's image?!" Ironwood incredulously asked, "Jacques, cut the bull, we both know the real reason why you're doing this. Your son has been kidnapped-"

"And you're going to get him back!"

"And he will be, and as I was trying to say, your SON has been kidnapped, probably being tortured, and you're worried that your rivals will use this knowledge as a slight against you. Not against the company, just you." Ironwood leaned in and pressed further, "You were meant to go on that trip, but you sent your son instead. He's been captured and you don't want people to think you just sent him to his death. Gods above, Jacques, are you-"

Jacques got in the general's face and shouted, "Don't you dare finish that sentence! I didn't bring you here to assault my character, but to plan an assault on the characters who took my son!"

Jacques bared his teeth and growled, "And why is it taking so long?!"

"Contrary to what you think, Jacques, but there is actual intelligence behind every decision I make with my military. There are protocols that have to be followed, answers that need to be found, like the fact that a classified flight was discovered and attacked! Do you have any idea what that implies, Schnee!" Ironwood gripped his fist in anger and said,

"It implies, no, proves my own worst fear."

"It's proof that there's a damn mole in my military!" He spat in barely contained fury.

Ironwood long suspected that there had been a leak in his military. For the past year, there had been attacks on many Atlas installations, wherein all their security was bypassed and their equipment, dust, and secrets were stolen. While the Council refused to believe that their military would be compromised, Ironwood most certainly can. It wasn't the first time he had to deal with a traitor, and it most certainly won't be the last. But he still had to know who, out of all his personnel, would sell out their brothers and sisters-in-arms.

When he did find them, all he'd have to worry about is how he can make the scum pay for all the blood their treason has cost. Considering the past year, it was a pretty steep debt to pay, and he'll be collecting all of it and with interest.

He took a deep breath and sank further back into his chair. He felt soft cushions of the armchair press into his back. It felt like he being massaged by a cloud. He then said,

"Look, I don't disagree with you for wanting to cover up the attack. Despite what you think, I am fully prepared to do it. If knowledge of it was leaked to the public, then they would've started asking questions, the kind that would make a spy worry about their position. We can't find a spy if they know they're being hunted."

Jacques held back the urge to smirk. He had gotten his way, again.

"As for your son, well, I know that he's alive. The perpetrators wouldn't be so dumb as to murder a hostage as high-profile as him. But it's going to take a while before an actual rescue operation can be mounted. We can't exactly rescue a person if we don't know where they are."

"For now, we wait."

"All right, the wait is over. We're ready to replace this magnet."

Yinsen looked at the device Whitley had given to him. After several hours of hard work, suffering slight burns and minor cuts, the boy had finally finished his invention. Despite the boy's justified distaste for his prior action, he will still let the man perform surgery on his person. There wasn't much choice in the matter, considering that the man was the only person he knew in this abandoned mine who had proper medical training. After prepping for surgery, Whitley laid down on the brightly-lit surgery table, his bare chest ready to be operated upon. The Car battery lied next to him, still charging the electro-magnet that will soon be replaced.

Dressed in his surgery smock, hands sterilized and wearing latex gloves, the doctor stood ready to begin the operation. His instruments lay on a cart situated next to him.

He looked down at his patient and asked, "Before we begin, I have to tell you that there is a very high-risk that this'll fail. This operation is rushed and given the quality of tools we're working with, I'm not very optimistic about my chances at success. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Whitley nodded vigorously and said, "I'd rather get this done now, rather than later. I'd like to be able to walk without lugging a battery around, thank you very much."

"Okay. First, I'm going to sedate you," Yinsen raised a finger, "with your permission this time."

Whitley was still rather miffed about that. He chose to keep his opinion to himself. The last thing he needed was to anger the man who was literally holding his life in the palm of his hands.

"You're going to be out of it for a few hours." The Doctor explained and then said with a reassuring tone, "But by the time you wake up, you'll be able to walk freely about without a battery wearing you down."

Whitley smirked, assured that his device will work. It had to. He built it after all and he has never built anything that never worked. The shrapnel in his heart was evidence of that craftsmanship, despite the cruel irony of that statement.

"Alright, here we go." Yinsen took an anesthesia oxygen mask and strapped it around Whitley's head. He turned the valve on the anesthesia canister, allowing the anesthetic to funnel through the translucent tunnel leading to the mask. The mask's hose spray the sedative into the boy's nose. Within minutes, he was asleep.

With his patient now under, Yinsen began the operation.

Whitley Schnee found himself within his grandmother's living room again. Looking around, he found no trace of his doppelganger or his younger self. He was all alone. He wanted to say it felt good, but at the same time, it felt lonely. He may have tormented by his sinister double, felt powerless to help his younger self, but they made for better company than the others. As he paced around the room, he noticed that the old television set was coming to life. He stopped in his tracks and looked toward the small screen, waves of static rippling across the screen.

Kneeling down, Whitley examined the television, wondering what had caused it to suddenly turn on. Then he looked at the screen and saw, to his curiosity, that an image was beginning to form from out of the static.

The teenager watched as the image on screen came into focus, the static clearing away to reveal a sight he was not expecting. On the television, dressed in a black business suit with a sorrowful expression on his face was none other than himself. The Whitley on television was standing behind a podium, addressing what appeared to be a small gathering of people. But then he saw something behind TV-Whitley, something that made his blood turn cold.

It was a casket, one that looked to have been carved out of marble. The body in the casket was what truly frightened him. It was his body, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing for the last few days. Coffin-Whitley also had a very large, gaping hole in his chest. TV-Whitley cleared his throat and spoke.

"Today we have gathered to say goodbye to Whitley Schnee. But we are not just laying him to rest, no; we are also laying a dream to rest. The dream that one day, after years of hard work and tearful sacrifice, he would be acknowledged by father as the true heir of the Schnee legacy." TV-Whitley wiped away a stray tear.

"But that is not going to happen. Whitley Schnee is dead and he died as he lived…" TV-Whitley paused for dramatic effect.

Whitley watched his televised double's frowning face twist into a vicious and malicious smirk. Then he heard his next words, "Alone, pathetic, and forgotten. With that in mind, let us pay our last disrespects to the fondly forgotten. We invited his family to share some words, but they couldn't come. They had better things to do…"

TV-Whitley's smirk stretched wider as he happily said, "But they did tell me what they thought of him. Going in order from completely loathed to frankly uncaring, let's hear what his family had to say. Let's start with Weiss!"

Whitley watched in horror as his double's face morphed into that of his sister's, his short white growing longer and trying itself into side ponytail Weiss often kept her own in.

He then spoke in a scarily accurate imitation of her voice, "My brother was an annoying little shit who never bothered to leave me alone. He was a pathetic, sniveling, little weasel who only looked out for himself. He was a disgrace to the family and I'm glad to be rid of him. Now, let's hear what our sister, Winter, had to say about our baby brother!"

Whitley felt as though he were stabbed in the heart by those words. He then watched Weiss's face then morphed into the ever-scrutinizing visage of his older sister. Much like with Weiss, his doppelganger spoke very much like Winter.

"Many of you know that I have never cared for my brother. To me, he was nothing more than a frightened, little coward who never learned to stand up for himself. He constantly did whatever everyone else told him to do, no matter how undignified and demeaning the task. To put it in layman's terms: My brother was a bitch."

Whitley felt the invisible knife in his heart twist, further causing him pain. Then his double's face became that of his mother. "You know why I always drink myself into a near-coma all the time? It's so that I can forget what a huge, fucking disappointment my son was. Sure, Jacques may have played a small part, but Whitley, oh, let me tell you, it was Whitley who gave me the drive to get completely blitzed off my ass 24/7. I never wanted him, but unfortunately I couldn't find a coat-hanger in time before it was too late."

It was there that Whitley's fragile heart began to crack under the pressure of the metaphorical knife. Then he saw his father's face, his mustache finely trimmed and his eyes void of emotion. He then heard him talk in the same condescending voice he had heard all his life.

"I'm sorry, but for whom is this funeral for? I didn't bother checking, since I only came as a courtesy. Wait, it's for my son, right? Oh, well, I would say that I loved my son and that I'll miss him every day, but I was told that lying at a funeral is disrespectful. He deserves the truth that much I can say, and the truth is that I never actually cared for him. In fact, compared to his sisters, he was more a bronze medal to their gold. Then again, I had far more important things to worry about than the back-up kid, anyway."

Whitley felt his heart break at that remark. Then he felt something pass through his chest, something cold and whistling. He looked down to see that a hole had formed in his chest, right where his heart had been. He hadn't felt it before, or maybe he just chose to ignore it, but he can finally see the truth of it.
He was broken. So broken that he doubted anything can fix him. The boy sat down on the floor and curled up, burying his face into his knees.

"Talk about depressing, am I right?" He heard a familiar voice ask, "I mean what's happened to television these days? It's like all they show is depressing crap that just wants to reinforce just how shitty the world is."

He looked back to see that his Grandmother was sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of water. The old woman saw her grandson and waved, "What's up, short round. You're looking a little upset, want to sit down and talk about it?"

Whitley rose and trudged up to the couch and sat beside his grandmother. Through tear-stained eyes, he looked at his grandmother, who gave him a comforting smile. He then asked, "Is this real?"

Toni Stark pursed her lips in deep thought, tapping her chin. Seconds later, she replied. "Depends on what you mean by "real", because honestly I know as much as you do, sonny."

She pointed at the television. "I mean the television is imaginary, but what you saw was most definitely real. I guess they're your subconscious thoughts…"

She took a sip of her water, then remarked. "Man, you must really hate yourself."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. How can I hate myself, I'm smart, witty, and as far as I know, all the ladies want me." Whitley boasted, trying to bolster his ego.

Toni just sighed in exasperation, "Okay, first, yes, you're incredibly smart, that is an undeniable fact. Two, compared to me, your wits are as sharp as a plastic knife. Third, I'm pretty sure you swore off woman until you graduated…"

Whitley glowered at that statement. "I mean sure, you can keep pretending that your life isn't totally messed up, but that charade only last for so long, no matter how much effort into it. You know, I'm starting to see why the Doc gave you the sleepy juice; you're as stubborn as a damn mule. I mean, granted it was still a total dick move, but you have to know your limits, you're not Wonder Man, you know."

"So what are you trying to tell me? Is this supposed to be some kind of message, an epiphany, that I should change my ways?" Whitley argued, wondering where his grandmother was going with this.

Toni countered that statement, "It's more like an intervention. I'm just here to warn that if you keep thinking that you're the god's gift to the world, it's going to have consequences. Consider what you saw on the TV."

"I'd rather not…"

"Tough toenails, but you're going to. What you heard? Do you really believe that's what your family thinks of you? Well, I mean, that's probably what your father thinks of you, but did you ever think of just talking with your mother and sisters, to try and bury the hatchet?"

"They're too busy-"

"That's not a good excuse. Hell, I think you have no excuses. Are you that childish? Trying to use whatever reason you can find, no matter how small or petty, to avoid your family?"

Whitley had no retort for that. His grandmother continued, "Because if you don't clean up your act, you're going to lose the few people left in your life who do care about you. Not just your sisters and mother, but also Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, and the Stanes."

"What about VIC?" Whitley spoke up.

"Do you really want VIC to be the sole presence in your life?"

Whitley thought about it and suddenly got a headache. Even when he wasn't there, VIC was still a pain to deal with.

He then said, "Okay, that's a fair point."

"Glad we can agree on one thing. Look, all I'm asking is that you tone down the self-importance. If you don't, then it's going to bite you in the ass and hard." Toni then took one last sip of her glass. "Well, that's the last bit of water. Guess it's time for you to wake up."

"Wait, before I go, I have to ask. Why are you the one who's been helping me here? I mean it could have been Pepper or Happy, but why my deceased grandmother?"

The mental construct of his grandmother shrugged, "It's your mind, kid. How am I supposed to understand how it works? I'm a figment of your imagination, not your psychiatrist."

Whitley began to feel drowsy, as though he were falling sleep. No, he was waking from a dream. He looked at his grandmother, who just waved at him with a smile.

She smiled and spoke, "Later, tater."

Then there was darkness.

"Welcome to the rest of your life..."

Whitley woke up with a gasp, which startled Yinsen.

"Calm down, kid. You're not dying anymore. It worked! It actually WORKED!" The doctor exclaimed jubilantly.

Whitley processed the man's words and promptly looked down at his chest. To his immediate satisfaction, he saw the Arc reactor safely implanted into the circular opening that once housed the electromagnet. The reactor glowed brilliantly in the dimly-lit cave, like a luminescent beacon of blue light. Feeling a wave of satisfaction he hadn't felt in days, the teenager launched himself from the operating table and started bouncing happily in joy.

It worked. He had actually taken his grandmother's unfinished invention, made it smaller, and was able to make it work. It felt amazing as well, it was like the reactor was filling him with energy, and he just had to go and try to use it all up. He felt he like walk ten miles in the desert without getting tired. He can't explain the sudden jolt of renewed vigor he felt in his body.

But he didn't care at the moment to explore it. He had completed the challenge that was set before him and he had finished within three days. With a spring in his step, he approached the iron doors and knocked on them. Within a second, a slit on the door slid open, with his currently assigned guard peering through it.

The guard irritably growled, "What do you want, punk?"

Whitley ignored the man's rudeness and told him with a confident smirk, "Tell the creepy snake-guy that I'm finished with my little science project."

The slit in the door slid back. The guard was doubtlessly walking off to report to his commander. Whitley looked back and saw that Yinsen had ceased celebrating, staring at him with a horrified face.

The doctor then asked, "What did you just do?"

Whitley blinked at the question and asked, "What?"

"And you're absolutely sure of this?" Savin asked the guard.

The guard nodded, "Yes, sir. The little prick's done building whatever it is he was building."

Savin grinned and relieved the Guard. He turned to Vryolak, who was sitting at his desk, and told him. "It seems Mr. X's words of praise were not unwarranted. Mr. Schnee has successfully found a way to keep himself alive. In less than three days."

"So the little asshole actually can build stuff?" Vryolak cockily grinned, "This is working out better than I hoped."

"Indeed, comrade, indeed. Now that the boy's intelligence has been proven, it's time we present to him our proposal." Savin said with a calm and confident tone.

Vryolak, however, was skeptical and voiced his doubts. "Do you really think the Schnee-Spawn is going to build anything for us? We can't exactly threaten him, not without Mr. X finding out and slaughtering us like pigs."

"That's why we have the back-up plan." Savin turned on his heel. Without looking at Vryolak, he told him. "Tell the guards it's time… tell them it doesn't matter who they choose, so long as it helps prove our point."

Savin then left the small makeshift command center, marching his way to the cave where his newest prisoner was being. By the end of the day, however, he hoped that his newest hostage will be his newest supplier.

"I don't get why you're so upset. I've just accomplished my, no, THE greatest breakthrough in modern technology."

"That's not what I'm upset about."

For the past several minutes, Whitley and Yinsen had been engaged in a heated argument over the boy's recent action. The boy didn't understand why the doctor was so upset. If anything, he should be honored that he had played a part in the development of the single greatest technological advancement since the development of the rocket. Whitley felt insulted by the man's words. They had created a new source of energy and Yinsen treated it as though it were a bomb waiting to go off.

"Look, do you know what this means for me?" Whitley asked before explaining, "I have accomplished the task those masked freaks gave me, and I did it ahead of schedule. When they see this reactor, they're bound to start making deals that could lead to my eventual release or at the very least keep them from making any moves against me until I'm rescued."

"No, you've just proven that you can build anything. Do you know what that means to them? It means that they've found a new source of weapons; I'm talking guns, rockets, and mines. If it can blow up people, than they're going to ask you to build it."

Whitley scoffed, "As if I'm going to help a bunch of terrorists. What are they going to do, torture me? I'm Whitley Schnee; the last thing they want is to harm their only bargaining chip. No, I'm going to look that Steroid-freak and Snake-creep in the eye and tell them it's my way or the highway."

Yinsen was finally at his wit's end. He narrowed his eyes and said, "Is this a game to you?! Do you really think two terrorists are going to make deals with a kid, even if he's a Schnee? They were able to blow you out of the sky and bring you to a mine, all under Atlas' nose no less. Do you honestly think they're the type of people who'd listen to you?"

Before Whitley could answer the man, the sound of the metal doors opening drew their attention. Accompanied by a few guards, Vryolak and the Snake-Man, whose name Whitley learned was Savin, walked in. Savin approached the young man and ordered, "Show me."

Whitley did as instructed, pulling on his shirt's collar to reveal the reactor in all of its glory. Savin stared at the small device in wonder, completely mesmerized by its glow. The teenager was surprised that the seemingly cold terrorist was even capable of expressing any form of emotion other silent stoicism.

The man looked the boy in the eye and said, "I'm impressed, Mr. Schnee. I gave you an impossible task and you completed it, blowing all expectations out of the water."

"It seems the stories of your Intelligence weren't hearsay. You are, indeed, a once in-a-lifetime genius."

Whitley kept his silence. If this has been in any other circumstance, he would've enjoyed the praise being heaped upon him. But not now, not when the praise was coming from one of the men responsible for nearly killing him. Savin noticed his silence, "I take it you're still upset about the circumstances that brought you here."

The boy genius coolly replied, "That would be an understatement. But I doubt you came here to discuss the past or offer hollow praise. What do you want from me?"

"You disrespectful, little bas-" Vryolak tried to yell, only for his partner to wave him off.

"Now, now, Miklos, there's no need for such hostility. Mr. Schnee, I apologize for my comrade, he has a bit of a mild temper."

Whitley remembered the Fang grunt that Yinsen had operated on. Suffice to say, the Minotaur had something far worse than a mild temper.

"Now, shall we forgo the pleasantries? Because I have a proposal for you," Savin crossed his arms and elaborated, "As my comrade asked before, we would like you to provide services to cause. We want weapons, Mr. Schnee, and you have shown yourself to be a productive worker. Cooperate with us and we will ensure your safety for the foreseeable future."

Whitley thought about it. He came to a decision within seconds. He smiled and said, "No, I won't. In fact, I have a counter-proposal."

Savin cocked an eyebrow in interest, "And what is your proposal?"

"You release me. You know that the Atlesian Army is speeding on its way here to rescue me. They have the numbers, the training, and the most sophisticated weaponry on the planet. Essentially, they're going to rip you a new one and then some. Set me free and I swear I will tell them to leave you alone."

As soon as Whitley said the last word, a silence settled in the cave. Savin stared impassively at the boy, Vryolak was dumbfounded, and the guards just stared at him as though he had grown a second head. Yinsen had simply palmed his face. Then somebody started to snicker. Then another began to laugh. Laughter then erupted from the White Fang save for Savin. Many were going red in the face; some were wheezing uncontrollably, and others were close to dropping to their knees.

"What is so funny!?" Whitley shouted indignantly, angered at being ridiculed by these criminals.

Savin answered for his men, "They're laughing at the fact that you think you have any control over this situation. Did you really think we're stupid as to set a valuable hostage like you free? Hell, I know for a fact that you'd lead the army right to our doorstep. That is, if they were looking for you at all."

Savin snapped his fingers. From the cackling group of terrorist, a single grunt came forward with a scroll. The Snake-faunus took the scroll and swiped his hand across it. He held it out for Whitley to see.

As Whitley examined the tiny screen, he felt his blood run cold. It was an article published on the home page of the Atlas Globe. The headline, much to his horror, was the following.

A PRINCE IN ANIMA: Whitley Schnee enjoying time under Animan Sun.

"What the hell is this?" The so-called prince demanded.

"It's a cover-up, Mr. Schnee. It seems your father thought it best to hide your kidnapping from the world. No doubt to protect the company's image, as well as the Atlesian Army's reputation." Savin pointed out, as the last of the laughter died away.

Whitley glared at the Snake man. He wished that could burn the bastard to a crisp with his eyes. Savin leaned in and asked, "Now, let me ask you again. Will you cooperate with us?"

Despite the fact they had rejected his proposal, in spite of the fact that he now knew that nobody was coming to save him, something within the young genius compelled him to resist. He didn't know if it was his conscience or his pride, but Whitley was absolutely certain that he will never agree to help these criminals. These monsters had hurt many of his friends, destroyed countless lives, and have caused more harm to the kingdoms than even the Grimm. Whitley made his choice known in the most appropriate way imaginable.

He spat on Savin's face. He gathered all the saliva and phlegm he could gather in his throat, and spat it on the man's face, directly near his left eye.

Then with all of the hatred and anger he can convey through his voice, Whitley Schnee coldly told the man. "Go fuck yourself, you creepy-ass cocksucker."

Everyone present, from the terrorists to Yinsen, stared in shock at the young man. In the time that the young man had been there, they had not seen him act in such a manner. Even during his initial meeting with Vryolak and Savin, he kept a calm and almost mocking confidence in his behavior. After Savin challenged him to save his own life, the young man became obsessed to the point of nearly losing his mind, yet refrained himself from any malicious behavior. It seemed that the young Schnee's composure had finally broken.

Savin calmly wiped the spit off of his face and sighed, "And here I was hoping we would come to peaceful resolution."

Vryolak asked his old friend, "Time for our back-up plan?"

"Indeed. Bring him in." Vryolak smirked viciously. He was going to enjoy this.

The Minotaur turned to his men and motioned them to step away from the door. Taking the hint, the grunts quickly stepped aside, so as to give more space. That was when they heard the sound of footsteps echo. Whitley heard the noise as well and looked to the entrance. Then he saw them.
Entering the cave were two guards dragging an unknown person into the cave. This person had a ratty-brown sack over their head and their clothes were worn and somewhat dirty. Whitley noticed that the clothes were actually a uniform, military in design and had once been a pristine white. Whoever this person was, they were a member of the Atlesian Army and he was being held captive much like he was.

Reaching the center of the cave, the guards roughly shove the newly arrived hostage to the floor, who grunts in pain as they hit the rocky floor. Vryolak then walked to their side, grabbing hold of their neck, and removed the sack. Their face now revealed, Whitley saw that they were a man, with curly brown hair and pale-looking skin. The man's face was bruised and bloodied, having a black eye and a cut lip, showing that he was not given the best treatment.

The man then spoke in a raspy and dry voice, "You… bloody… wankers."

Whitley recognized the accent. He knew who this man was. It was Doyle, one of the soldiers assigned to his protection detail. The man had survived the ambush and was being held captive much like he was. Unfortunately for the soldier, the Fang considered him to be more worthless than he was, if his current well-being were any indicator.
Looking to his right, he saw that Yinsen was as shocked as he was.

The doctor then accused Savin, "You told me there were no other survivors."

Savin shrugged, "I lied."

Wait, there are others? Whitley wondered, still shocked by this sudden turn of events. He then noticed Savin had started speaking and listened with rapt attention.

"Mr. Schnee," He began before moving over to Vryolak, "We have been very patient with you. We gave you your space, we allowed you access to our resources, and yet you continue to spit in our faces; both figuratively and, most recently, quite literally."

Yinsen moved to intervene, only to be held back by some grunts aiming their rifles at him.

Savin calmly addressed the boy, "We thought you'd be a reasonable and responsible person, given your intelligence. Instead we got an arrogant, childish little boy who thinks himself a man. You have forced our hand, Mr. Schnee."

Whitley did not like where this was going.

"Whitley Schnee, allow me to present a new proposal. We want weapons and you are going to build them. If you refuse," Savin pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Doyle's temple, "I will shoot this man, right here and now."

Whitley just laughed uneasily, as though he were trying to convince himself this was a trick. He nervously asked, "Y-you can't be serious. This is just a joke, right? Some kind of bluff, right?"

Savin cocked the hammer, "You have till the count of three to give us answer."

"One…" Doyle whimpered in fear, tears falling from his one good eye.

"Okay, this is, uh, this isn't funny anymore…" Whitley pleaded, still in denial.

"Two…" Savin's index finger brushed against the trigger.

Whitley began to panic. He watched as Doyle began praying for his life, all while crying his heart out. Vryolak was chuckling at the man's fear, as though it were some hilarious spectacle.

"Thr-"

"STOP, I'LL DO IT! I'LL DO IT, GODS DAMMIT!" Whitley shouted, his voice echoing throughout the network of tunnels.

He may be a Schnee, but even Whitley believed he was not worth dying for. Doyle was unarmed, badly injured, and deserved to live.

Savin looked to the boy and said, "I'm glad that we can come to an understanding, Mr. Schnee."

Savin pulled his pistol away from Doyle's head and returned it to his holster.

He then told the relieved soldier, "You're very lucky, Private Doyle, I won't be killing you today."

Doyle smiled in gratitude. He looked to Whitley and gave him a thankful glance. The teenager was just glad he was able to save this man's life. Still feeling the adrenaline, Whitley closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

BANG!

Whitley's eyes shot open. He looked over and nearly lost his lunch at the sight. As he had promised, Savin did not kill Doyle. Vryolak, however, had made no such promise.

The Minotaur stood proudly like a hunter relishing his victory over his hunt. The man's pistol was at his side, the telltale scent of spent Dust hanging in the air. The corpse that had once been Doyle laid on its side, eyes glazed and unblinking, mouth open in a silent scream, as a small pool of blood formed around his head. Whitley saw that the corpse's head had a small yet shredded opening on his forehead. Vryolak had shot Doyle point-blank in his head.

Whitley stared at the corpse. This young man, who had just moments ago been alive, was now a crumpled-over corpse. He hadn't seen the shot, but he felt the impact of the bullet upon skin, burrowing through skull and brain matter, until coming through the other side, creating a nauseating waterfall of blood pouring into an ever-expanding river.

He didn't even notice Savin was addressing him until he spoke, "Contrary to what you think, Mr. Schnee, you have no control here. Your name may carry weight back home, but here it is practically worthless. The bottom line is that we own your life now. The only way you can pay us back is by providing us with new weapons and equipment. Until such a time as you can be released, you will work for us."

Whitley felt his stomach drop.

"And if you refuse to cooperate again, we will kill another prisoner." Savin pointed to the corpse, "This was a warning. I'm sure you don't want it to happen again."

With that said, The White Fang retreated from the room, dragging Doyle's corpse with them. Whitley continued to stare at the spot where the man had died, a small puddle of blood serving as a marker of the man's death. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pry his eyes away from the blood. The scene played over and over in his head, as though he were reviewing playback footage, searching for a sign that what he had seen was all staged. When he found no evidence to support his theory, he dropped to his knees.
The words of his grandmother came to mind. If you don't tone down that self-importance, it's going to bite you in the ass.

The Schnee thought he had control of this situation. He thought that he had leverage over these men, that he was invincible. He believed that his name was worth its weight in gold, and that it held some value with these men. He knew they couldn't hurt him, so they decided to kill someone else in his place.

I killed him…

Vryolak may have been the one to pull the trigger, but it was his own stubbornness that had gotten the man killed. This was all on him. So consumed by guilt he was that Whitley didn't even notice Yinsen approach him. The doctor knelt down and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

He then told the boy, "Go sit on your cot, son. I'll clean this up."

Whitley didn't even notice that his legs started moving, as they carried him over to the cot that had served as his bed for the past four days. As Yinsen began cleaning away the blood, Whitley simply sat and thought about the last few minutes. Then it devolved into an examination of the past few days, and then his life. The young man spent hours going over every choice he made in life, trying to ascertain whether he made a significant impact that proved beneficial to anyone other than himself. After a long period of self-reflection, he found to his disappointment that he had spent his whole life doing nothing except trying to elevate himself above others.

I've got to be better.

Hours later, the time came for dinner. Yinsen set about starting a fire to warm up the rice and grill the meat. Whitley said nothing as he watched the cackling fire burn. Yinsen had noticed the young man's silence. "You can't stop thinking about it, can you?"
Whitley stayed silent, preferring to watch the fire.

Yinsen sighed, "I know it's upsetting, but you have to accept that you couldn't have done anything to save that man's life. They were going to kill him anyway."

The doctor knew what he was saying was cold, but was also the truth. As far as he can tell, young Whitley was still at the moment where that young man was killed. Yinsen saw the fire reflect in the boy's unflinching arctic blue eyes. Yinsen stirred the pot containing the rice, deciding that the young man preferred the silence now. As he stirred the ladle, he heard the boy say in a tone that was barely above a whisper.

"HC/LC…"

Yinsen blinked in surprise, "What?"

Whitley spoke again, using his usual indoor voice. "He liked HC/LC, called me a smartass, and he was fond of Fred Mercury."

Yinsen then asked, "Did he have family, girlfriend or boyfriend?"

"I don't know. If he did, then they weren't going to know he's dead, if that article Savin showed me was true."

"You mean on the scroll? What did it say?"

"Apparently, I'm enjoying a nice, relaxing vacation here in Anima." Whitley said in disgust. "That is just, oh, that is just classic dad right there!"

Yinsen stopped stirring the pot and clasped his hand together. "I take it your father has done similar things in the past?"

"You have no damn idea. Whenever something bad happens, my dad just sweeps it under the rug. Winter joining the military he just paints as her abandoning the family. Weiss wanting to go to Beacon, he just tells the press that she's going through a rebellious phase. The only thing he hasn't tried to hide is my mother's damn alcoholism! But this…"

Whitley chuckled maliciously, "Oh-ho-ho, this latest stunt just takes the cake! Oh, I am definitely in Anima, but I am the farthest thing from relaxed and I most definitely am NOT having a gods-damned NICE VACATION!"

The boy was getting angry, far angrier than he had ever seen before, Yinsen noted. To his own credit, the doctor was virtually unfazed by the sudden shift in the boy's demeanor. It seemed that Whitley had issues long before he had shrapnel embedded into his chest. He didn't know if it was his recent experience or the crash, but it appeared that the wall the young Schnee built around his problems was going to collapse.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The doctor asked, offering the only form of therapy he can provide.

"Where do I even begin?" Whitley began, slouching his shoulders, "Because I have about sixteen years' worth of issues, all of which are pretty minor compared to how fucked up the last couple of days have been for me."

Yinsen asked, "Why don't we start with your family?"

"Where do I start? My mother is an unrepentant drunkard who spends more time with a bottle than she does her own children. My oldest sister, Winter, is an unapologetic perfectionist who constantly looks down on anyone who doesn't meet her impossible standards. Weiss, the vaunted heiress, is an arrogant, conceited, prissy, and spoiled fool who feels that everything should be handed to her just because she can swing a stupid sword around!"

Yinsen immediately wished he hadn't opened that can of worms. He decided to change subjects, "And what about your father?"

Whitley ceased his rant and became solemn. "My father is a great man. Under his leadership, the SDC has reached heights greater than what my grandfather imagined. The Schnee family practically has a monopoly on Dust now, and it is all thanks to the genius of my father!"

Yinsen could hear Whitley was bragging, but it felt hollow, as though he were an actor reciting a rehearsed line he had said many times before. The doctor was not convinced and asked, "Whitley, speak honestly. What do you think of your father?"

"Exactly as I said, my father is a great man…" Then Whitley breathed deeply, as though he were preparing for a challenging task.

He then exhaled and said, "But, that doesn't exactly mean he's a good man."

Yinsen was surprised. He didn't think Whitley, of all Jacques Schnee's children, would have problems with his father. He had heard rumors of the Schnee's less-than-stellar home life, but it was often found in gossip columns and tabloid mags. But that did not mean he had a high opinion of the man himself, considering that he had spent many years treating miners who have been injured in accidents. More often than not, they worked in the mines that barely met current safety standards, which the SDC had a reputation for ignoring.

"Tell me more about your father." He asked.

Whitley suddenly got very worked up, "What's there to tell? It's pretty obvious from that bogus headline how he feels about his own son. My father is a cold, domineering man. He's never told me that he loves me, not even that he likes me. As far as I know, I'm just another tool for him to help spread his influence."

"That's actually kind of sad. Don't you have anyone in your family you can rely on?"

"No, I have no one." Whitley sadly admitted. As far as he was concerned, his whole family hated him. As for Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey, It was only a matter of time before he did something that makes them leave.

"So you are the boy who has everything… and nothing." Yinsen said.

The boy didn't even bother answering the question. His silence was good enough an answer.

I wish to apologize for the quality of this chapter, if it felt somewhat rushed, then it is. I was quite in a hurry to get a chapter published, especially since I haven't uploaded one since March. April was hectic, what with me finishing finals and classes, all of which I passed. I am now taking summer classes (yes, by my own choice) so that I may be able to graduate in the fall. I am also looking for stable employment.

Anyway, let's get on to answering some questions posted in the reviews.

-This story is not posted in the Avengers section because this is purely an Iron Man/RWBY story. Whitley's adventures are going to be at the forefront, with any other heroes either being in the background or being mentioned. Come volume four, there will be more heroes involved.

-The Avengers are definitely going to form. That is all.

-Nobody has made a reaction fic because nobody has asked thus far. I mean, there was one person who did and I gave them permission, but their story is not exclusively dedicated to this one.

Now for the following statement:

Don't hate on Weiss, Winter, and Willow. Thus far, we have only seen them as they are viewed by Whitley. Miscommunication is one of the factors that led to their family's problems. Except Jacques, he's just a prick.

Next chapter will see Whitley finally begin his first true step toward becoming Iron Man. The following chapter will be a two month time-skip, in which Whitley escapes. Expect Character growth and tragedy.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, even if I think it's the weakest one I've written. I mean it's not bad, but it could be better.